


Odi et Amo

by Savageseraph



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Demonic Possession, Guilt, M/M, Priests, Regret, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: Marcus needs Tomas more than he needs to free people from the demons corrupting them.  More than he needs God.





	Odi et Amo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyrstzha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrstzha/gifts).



“She was a good girl, you know?”

Caroline Walker sits at her vanity, plucks a faded picture of a smiling girl in a cheerleader’s outfit from the frame of the cracked glass. She cradles the photograph in her hands, smiles down at it.

“Megan loved animals. She wanted to be a veterinarian, you know. She wanted to help them and their people. She had so many dreams. So many. I don’t know when it was she lost them.”

Marcus isn’t sure if he should interrupt Caroline or simply bear witness. He worries, seeing the bruises and scratches and sores left behind after Tomas drove the demon from her. She looks so fragile, but her voice is strong and doesn’t waver.

“I blamed myself, Father. Because I didn’t want to blame her.” Caroline looks up from the picture and half turns to face him. “And _she_ certainly blamed me. Said that if I’d done different, been different, she wouldn’t have turned to the drugs. She wouldn’t have dropped out of college and ended up working at the Walmart. She said whatever happened to her, it was my fault.” She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. “Those were the last words she ever spoke to me.”

Marcus tries not to fidget as he listens to Caroline speak. It’s too much like taking a confession, though the sun-drenched room with its wallpaper peppered with little clusters of violets and butterflies bears no resemblance to the dark of the confessional.

“She still had the needle in her arm when they found her the next day. Cold as stone.” She bows her head. “She told me she did it to punish me. For being a bad mother. She told me I was going to ruin her kids, just like I did her. That I was going to Hell. Just like her.”

Marcus goes over to crouch next to her chair. He touches her hand. Grief, regret, helpless anger, they were the cracks the demon used to slip inside her. “You know that wasn’t Megan. The creature said what it did to break you, to get you to give in to it.”

Caroline gives Marcus’s hand a pat, then covers it with her own. She nods. “I know that.” The words ring with conviction, and when she manages a small smile, Marcus can tell this is healthy grief, not the blackness that calls other dark things to it. “And I know that I have three grandbabies who need me to raise them now that she’s gone.”

Marcus smiles at her softly chiding tone. “They’re fortunate to have a strong grandmother who loves them very much.”

She brushes away his words like she’d shoo away a fly. “A woman my age with a teenager and two younger ones.“ She stands, straightens her striped housecoat. “Do you think this is a test your God has put before me?”

Her smile indicates she means the words as a joke, but they slam into Marcus like a blow, twist inside him. He used to be certain about the path God put before him and the trials he faced along it, but now… Now he is isn’t sure of anything, least of all, God’s will. He knows he’s supposed to say something, that she’s waiting for him to, but no words come. He feels her gaze on him, even though he can’t quite meet it.

“You know, Father, it’s not your fault either.”

“I beg your pardon.” Marcus forces himself to meet her gaze, a trickle of dread slips down his back at what he might see watching him from Caroline Walker’s cornflower-blue eyes, and he reflexively thanks God when he sees they are free of malice or guile.

A blush colors her cheeks, and she’s the one who looks away. “I remember some things that I said to you when I wasn’t myself. And you need to know, it’s not your fault.”

Marcus’s whole body tightens as if a hole opened under his feet and he was going into a free fall.

“You need to know I never gave up on my little girl. Even when people told me she’d made a wreck of herself and her life and she’d pull me down into it with her if I let her do it. I never stopped loving her no matter what she did. Because it don’t work that way. No matter what you do, a mother—or father—loves you just the same. I expect that goes for a heavenly father as well.”

_Where’s your God now **Father** Marcus? He used you. Used you hard and then cast you aside for a newer model, hmmm? You can’t blame him now, can you? Just think of all the people you couldn’t help. Couldn’t save. How do you think that made him feel? Putting his trust in you and then having you fail? Over and over and over again._

“I don’t know what you mean.” This was not a conversation he wanted to be having. Not with a woman who was almost old enough to be his mother. Hell, he didn’t even want to confess it to himself.

“Oh, but I think you do. And, well, just because you have a brother, that don’t mean your parent loves you less. Love don’t get used up like that.” She tsks at him. “You know that.”

_Father Tomas is pleasing to look at. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Do you think that’s why God has his eye—and **hand** \--on him now? Maybe you’d like to have a hand on him too. On him. Or maybe in him. _

Marcus pulls back. “Mrs. Walker…”

“It’s okay.” Caroline touches his arm. “I expect you have a lot to think about. But don’t let it lie too long, Father. Things only get worse if you let them fester.” She nods. “But then I expect you know that too.”

Over his objections that she needed rest, Caroline Walker showed him to the door after giving him two tins of butter cookies she made for an upcoming church bake sale, a jar of homemade strawberry jam, and a lot to think about.

###

Tomas is sleeping when Marcus leaves the Walker house. He doesn’t stir when Marcus gets into the car or starts the engine. There are dark circles under his eyes, and a series of dark scratches run across his cheek and down the side of his neck. Marcus shakes his head. They can’t keep going at this pace. Tomas can’t. One man can’t hold back all the evil flooding into their world. It would take an army, an army neither of them has.

_Being God’s Chosen is hard work. It’s sacrifice. For the greater good._ Marcus shakes his head to banish the uncharitable thought. It used to be his work too, but these days, he’s starting to doubt who is the apprentice and who is the master. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. He’s starting to doubt many things.

By the time they get to the hotel, Tomas is snoring softly and Marcus has tried to put to rest the feelings his chat with Caroline Walker stirred up inside him. He sighs, glances at the man sleeping next to him. Tomas’s lips are slightly parted, and Marcus thinks about how it would feel to tease them open with his tongue. He reaches out, lets his fingers lightly trace the line of Tomas’s jaw. 

Tomas sighs at the touch, and Marcus jerks his hand back. But Tomas doesn’t wake. He shifts, baring the side of his neck, and Marcus wonders, not for the first time, what it would be like to feel the strong pulsebeat quicken under his lips as he nuzzled at Tomas’s skin. He catches himself leaning in just slightly before he draws a sharp breath and sits back.

“Tomas?” The word is little more than a whisper, and Marcus clears his throat before he tries again. “Tomas?”

“Ummmm….” Tomas’s eyes open a sliver. “What is it?” The question comes out as a single word, and Marcus can’t help but smile in response.

“We’re at the hotel. Come on.” He rests a hand on Tomas’s shoulder, squeezes. “Let’s get cleaned up and get something to eat.”

Tomas runs his fingers through his hair, rubs at his forehead, and yawns. “I am hungry.” 

_Tell me, **Father** , do you love him or hate him more?_

The sleepy smile he gets from his friend brings a stab of guilt with it, but Marcus manages to return the smile. Tomas needs him. Marcus knows this, just as surely as he knows he needs Tomas. More than he needs to face the enemy corrupting their world. More, maybe, than he needs God. 

###

While Tomas uses the shower, Marcus skims through flyers for places that deliver to the hotel. Neither of them is going to want to go out for food tonight. Even when events end well, as they did for Caroline Walker, the toll from the battle lingers in them after. He finally settles on a sub shop, since it seems like the most healthy option, and when he starts to ask Tomas if he's good with the choice, the question dies on his lips.

Marcus knows he has been distracted and wrung out. That's the only possibly reason he didn’t notice Tomas left the bathroom door open when he went in to shower. Now, he can see the shadow of Tomas’s body through the steamed glass, and even though he knows he should look away, he can’t quite make himself do it. Instead he watches as Tomas’s hands move over his chest and down his sides. He turns, then groans, stretching his arms over his head and arching into the spray hitting his back. Marcus groans softly in response, and as Tomas's hands run down his sides and across his stomach, he feels his pants grow uncomfortably snug. His palms tingle at the thought of stroking Tomas’s wet skin and feeling out every last spot that makes the other man shudder and moan.

_You should take him. You know you want to. Take him and sully him. Leave him so that only your name is on his lips. So that his body sings only at your touch._

_”No.”_ The word is little more than a whisper, but Marcus’s hands curl into fists tight enough that he can feel the pain from his nails biting into his palms. He sits heavily on the edge of his bed, back to the bathroom and closes his eyes. He needs to put this to rest, or the demons will keep using it against him. Against Tomas. And he can’t have that. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, head bowed, eyes closed. 

“That was…difficult.” 

Marcus looks up when Tomas sits on the bed across from him. Despite the towel slung around the other man’s waist, droplets of water from his wet hair still slide down Tomas’s neck, glide across his chest. Marcus swallows heavily.

“They all are. Each in its own way.” Marcus felt that each time he had to face one of the Fallen. It wasn’t just their hosts that bore their scars on--and under--their skin. “But you saved Mrs. Walker and her family.” There was little doubt in Marcus’s mind that the children would have been casualties in this war had they not come this way.

“I suppose you’re right.” Tomas brushes as his wet hair. It has grown longer since they’re been on the road, curling down the back of his neck.

“I usually am.” 

Tomas returns his smile with one of his own. Silence spins out between them, and Marcus almost believes it’s nothing more than a companionable quiet until he notices Marcus rubbing at the back of his neck and chewing on his lip. He lets his gaze move over Tomas, looking for any sign he might be trying to hide some hurt, but his partner looks whole.

But Marcus knows, better than most, that looks can very easily deceive. “What is it, Tomas?” If something is truly wrong with Tomas, he needs to know.

“The demon…” Tomas wets his lips. “It told me things.” 

Marcus tenses, then forces himself to relax. “They always too.” His tone is too dismissive, too flippant. He knows it as soon as the words leave his mouth and he sees a flare of anger in Tomas’s eyes.

“It wasn’t wrong, Marcus.” The anger fades as quickly as it sparked. “It wasn’t.”

“They twist things, Tomas. You know that.” Marcus takes care to make his tone soothing, not chiding. “And the best lies are the ones that have glimmers of the truth in them.”

“What if these were more than glimmers?”

Marcus frowns. “Then we can talk about it. If you keep it inside, let it eat at you. And you’ll be forging weapons they can use against you.” He curses himself as the worst sort of hypocrite, asking for trust when he doesn’t trust Tomas with the ways the creature tempted him.

“You don’t think there are things that should stay secret?”

Marcus’s throat goes dry. Things like how he got hard just watching the shadow of Tomas in the shower? How he’s sitting carefully, even now, so Tomas won’t know how having him nearly naked just a few feet away is making him respond again? How he wants to trace the path of every fucking drop of water that runs down Tomas’s body with his tongue? He takes a deep breath, exhales it in a deep sigh.

“Secrets can get you killed.” When he sees Tomas flinch, Marcus gentles his tone, tries another approach. “You have to know there’s nothing you can tell me, nothing so terrible, that it will make me turn from you?” When Tomas meets his gaze, he smiles.

“There isn’t?” Marcus shakes his head. “You’re certain?”

“I’m sure.” There were a hell of a lot of things Marcus wasn’t sure of lately, but that wasn’t one of them. Even at those times he almost hates Tomas, he never considers leaving him.

This time, the silence presses down on them. Marcus feels himself tensing under the weight of it until Tomas nods once. Twice.

He stands, shoves at the towel that slides off his hips and pools around his ankles. His cock is just about eye level, so Marcus can’t help but notice he’s half hard and that his cock twitches slightly when Marcus reflexively licks his lips before quickly looking away.

“What are you doing?”

“It told me that you watch me. That you watch me and think that I have…” A flush rises to Tomas’s cheeks. “Lips made for sucking cock.” The words startle a groan from Marcus, who also colors at them. “That you dream about fucking my mouth. You dream about fucking me many different ways.”

_Bugger your sweet Father Tomas blind or beat him to a bloody pulp? I wonder which you’d prefer. Defile him or punish him? Which makes you harder, **Father**?_

The need to deny Tomas’s accusation is strong, but Marcus knows his own reaction already betrayed him. “Tomas… We need to talk… This isn’t… It isn’t what it seems.” The words die on his lips as Tomas steps closer, rests his hands lightly on Marcus’s head. His cock, not half hard any longer, is so close to Marcus that he’d only need to lean forward a little to be able to taste it.

“What is it then, Marcus?” Tomas curls his hand around the base of his cock. “What do you dream about me?” He brushes his cock across Marcus’s lips and tenses when Marcus licks at the head. A muttered curse, sharpens into a shout as Marcus takes him into his mouth.

It has been a long time since Marcus has done this, and he supposes it’s fortunate some things aren’t easily forgotten. He rubs his tongue against Tomas’s cock, sucks gently on the head. He wonders about Tomas’s experience with it when the other man thrusts deeper too hard, too fast. He chokes a bit, tears welling in his eyes as he swallows. The pain is a penance he’s happy to pay.

“I always knew.” Tomas gasps as Marcus moves, sucking and licking and swallowing. “I knew you watched, but I never let you know. Because Iiked it. The thought of making you ache. Wondering what you’d do to me. When you ran out patience. When watching wasn’t enough.”

The breathless confession tumbles out, coaxed out of hiding as Tomas fucks his mouth. Marcus fumbles to free himself from his pants and fist his cock, stroking himself in time with Tomas’s thrusts. This isn’t how he imagined things in the dreams the demon used against him, but Marcus didn’t think either of them were going to last long.

“It knew I wanted. Wanted you to touch me.” His fingers comb through Marcus’s hair. It’s too short to allow Tomas something to hold onto, but he still tries, reaching reflexively for something to steady him as his thrusts get more erratic. “I wanted _you_ , Marcus.”

Marcus groans deeply. If his mouth wasn’t full, Marcus would tell him that he wanted him too. That sometimes it only took Tomas licking his lips absently while he was reading or watching television to make him hard. That he brought himself off more times than he could count thinking about losing himself in Tomas’s heat. That having him close and not being able to have him was a knife twisting inside him. But those were things he could save for later so he could savor watching how Tomas would respond to them.

Now, he only wants to watch Tomas come. Marcus cups Tomas’s balls, rubbing them gently as he moans again, letting all the desperate need he’s feeling bleed into the sound. As the sound vibrates against Tomas, he cries out sharply, thrusts deeply into Marcus’s mouth, and comes. 

“Need you. Need you. Need you.” The words repeat, blur together into a long moan that makes Marcus’s body tighten even as he swallows around Tomas. His fingers tighten around his cock as his hips jerk and he comes harder than he has in years. Harder than he thought possible from sucking cock.

Marcus lets himself fall back onto the bed, pulling Tomas down with him. He kisses Tomas’s forehead, then brushes his lips lightly and teasingly against the other man’s. “I need you too. You know that, right?” The confession and how easily it came startle Marcus.

Tomas doesn’t open his eyes, but he does smile, slow and lazy, and curls into Marcus’s heat. “I know.”

“You do?” Marcus’s brows raise, and Tomas laughs softly at his tone. 

“I do. I know a lot of things.”

Marcus wants to ask Tomas what those things are, but he doesn’t. Not when he knows whatever Tomas says will cut deep enough it can’t ever be ignored or undone. Because in the brief time they’ve been together, Marcus has learned that Tomas throws his whole heart into everything he does. _Everything._ No one, not even God, has ever given Marcus that. And that both thrills and terrifies him in equal measure.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is an excerpt of a poem from Catullus to his mistress.
> 
> "Odi et amo. quare id faciam fortasse requiris.  
> nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.'" 
> 
> I hate you and I love you. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask.  
> I do not know, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.


End file.
